July 30th 1966. We had broken up for the summer holidays. I would be ten at the end of the year and was spending a large chunk of the six-week break, at my Nana and Granda's house in County Durham.
They had recently moved onto a new housing estate. All open plan greens and garages - a far cry from the pit terraces they lived in before the move. There were lots of new families to make friends with. Their neighbours, two doors down, were the Horswill's. Their son Micky, 13 or 14 at the time went on to play for Sunderland FC and he played a huge part in their 1973 FA Cup final win. My sister and I made friends with his two sisters Susan and Christine and several other girls, all our age, who lived nearby.
I don't remember any of the qualifying games during the tournament, but the buzz about the final had everyone so excited, that it wasn't hard to get caught up in the atmosphere.
Everyone was making plans to meet at my grandparents on the day. I loved my aunties, uncles and cousins being around and this alone made me look forward to watching the final with them. It was always such a laugh when we got together.
Someone else had been making plans. The next-door neighbours, to the other side of my grandparents house, had enjoyed organising their daughters wedding for months. Who could have predicted that the World Cup final would be on her big day?
I think the bride-to-be must have been the only person in the whole of England praying that our national side would get knocked out of the competition before the ceremony! But our brave lads weren't defeated and as her big day dawned, it began to dawn on everyone, particularly the male wedding guests, that there would be a massive conflict of interest.
I remember the wedding preparations that day. My nana was baking and passing food over the fence, as was the traditional northern 'way'. Everyone pitched in. The blokes were shuffling around being forced to get ready, when all they wanted to do was watch the television or listen to the radio, to hear the build up to the worlds biggest footballing finale of the decade.
The wedding cars pulled up to take everyone to church, but all you could hear was the shouting of the bride asking everyone to pay her attention, not the game! Poor girl. she looked lovely, but was not far from tears.
Anyway the game got underway. It was tense, but buoyant in my nana's front room. Cigarette smoke rose to the ceiling, making a bluey-grey cloud above everyone. There was no alcohol in the house. That was a no-no in those days. Everyone would get their fill of beer at the Social Club, later that evening, win or lose.
I remember being whisked off my feet a few times by enthusiastic relatives, when the score went the right way! Me and my new friends kept relaying the score to our friends stuck at the wedding reception in the local church hall. Blokes were sneaking out of the reception to try to find a television!
The game went into extra time. A trickle of wedding guests started coming down the street, followed by a very tearful bride and a groom trying to look interested in their big day. It was too much to ask that guests stayed at the hall and soon everyone was in front of a tv somewhere in the vicinity.
Of course England went on to lift the iconic Jules Rimet trophy, presented by Queen Elizabeth II. I remember everyone talking about how gallant Bobby Moore was, as he wiped his hands on his strip, to remove dirt, so that he would not mark the queen's gloves, as she congratulated him, with a handshake.
Later on in the day, as the shadows grew long, we kids re-enacted the exciting game. I was pretending to be Gordon Banks in goal. Everyone wanted to be our considerate captain, Martin Peter or Geoff Hurst!
The wedding party and 'menfolk' were all leaving for the club by then and were emptying their pockets of copper to give to us, as we pretended to be the World Cup winning side. Most of the guests were fuelled with beer and celebratory whisky from the reception and I got two half crowns in amongst the pennies and threepenny bits being doled out. Five bob for being Gordon Banks! To me, back in 1966, that was equivalent to Wayne Rooney's current weekly wages!
I remember the day vividly, if not much of the match. Now I'm older, I really feel for that poor bride - and others like her, who had their big day on England's biggest day in sporting history, fifty years ago.
Susie Carr
Memory added on August 25, 2016
Comments (Add your voice)
No comments have yet been added to this memory.
